Fate's dice

Hey, I don't know if anyone is still checking/reading this, but if you are I'm sorry it's been taking me so long to update...I just got wrapped up in starting university! RJxox

Vision blurring, this feels as if the world is playing a cruel game of sadistic deja vu. A roll of fates dice determines whether the odds will keep this tired and broken heart beating, one more time.
"Rosie...Rosie! Honey? Do you hear me sweetie?"
I guess fate's dice are loaded when it comes to me- well that or this is just something else to add to the long list of things I've failed at.
"Rose, please, you have to say something, can you hear us?"
It must be an illusion as two anxious faces hang over me, I can't believe this is what it took to force my warring parents together. It feels wrong, I open my mouth to protest before I realise what I'm doing. The sound I finally choke out is more groan than word, my mother reaches down to smooth the bed sheet next to me and I realise I'm back on the hospital gurney, tightly bandaged, more time must have passed than I'd realised. I gaze upwards, seeking explanation, surely one of my parents has something to say...my mum sure seemed to before I wound up here...and dad's never been prone to silent anger. In the end the voice to break the silence falls from my left side, just outside my field of vision.
"Look, Rose, you wouldn't open up to me during our session yesterday except to express a lack of regret for your actions..."
Psychologist? Doesn't this guy ever quit? It says something for his perseverance that I recognise his voice in this state I suppose, but I wish he'd just leave, psychologists have always been the bearers of bad news to me.
"...and with the incident this morning I had to make a formal recommendation for your treatment course as you're a minor."
I wasn't seeing the issue here, why was he telling me; like I cared about the trouble I was putting him through paperwork wise. Though my father's eyes were glazed with tears and my mother's eyebrows a downward slant of finality. I had to be missing something.
"Rose...with your parents' consent I've decided that you should be moved to the Sanctuary to receive rehabilitative care until such a time as you are no longer a danger to yourself."
The words settle around me, bloated with finality, tinged with pity. The Sanctuary, I've heard about it, a regular modern day asylum...I've never even heard of anyone going there though...how can they send me there?! Uncontrollable tremors wrack my frame as the sobs begin to build, I thrash and scream at the world until a slight prick on my arm enters my awareness and I drift off, realising they've drugged me.

Hundred watt bulb

 Hey guys, a more normal sized update for you this time, I'm sorry I've been out of it for so long, I had laptop trouble and then I moved! I know I don't have to put labels here but I just wanted to say be safe- because this could be triggering for SI. Anyway, hope you're all well. RJxox

As I force my breathing to slow I gaze up at the small window high over the bed. Its frame is dark, no comforting rim of light leeching from around the square blind, white like everything else in this place. I glance at the clock with its hands resting at 1:17 and I realise, with a sense of finality tinged with the faint desperate taste of expectation that nothing has changed for the better. This night, just like so many others before, I won't sleep. Knowing that all I can do is sit in the confined space and think, makes the five hours until day break stretch out for eternity. But what use, is an eternity filled with nothing? A grunt of noise from the left startles me; don't tell me that psychologist is still here?! I open my mouth, ready to rant and rage until he turns and leaves, tail tucked between his legs. I turn to the side, and I can see his face bathed in the slight glow emanating from the emergency call buttons along the bedside panel...and it's not the psychologist, it's my father. A rush of feeling sweeps through me, most surprising of all is my sudden joy at my dad's presence. This must be the first time I've seen him in months...months and months! I go to cry out but stop myself as I notice his phone resting next to me, screen up reading (1) New message: Julia. What? My brain is still a little hazy from the pain killers, but I know that's not why I'm confused, why would my mum be messaging? I'm sure they haven't been in contact since the shouting match last Christmas...but then, how else would he know I was here. Without considering the implications I hit 'view' and my mother's message fills the screen, 'Don't let J in, he shouldn't see her'. That bitch, James is probably the only person in the world that I'm really sure I love...how could she do this? But then, maybe she's right, what kind of example is this for James? Although it's not like there's anything to see, a bandaged wrist and a father who by all accounts should be absent, surely they can't have told him I'm sick or anything. I can feel my body begin to shake, quaking at the injustice of the somewhat imagined slight, I hate myself for leaving my brother. I don't care about secrecy at this point, I just want my mother to hurt as much as I am so I scribble on the hospital issue paper on the bedside don't worry if your hate seems inadequate, I've got enough Rose-hatred for two.

I spot the private bathroom off this room, and almost intuitively I know that the blades I'd hidden in the lining of my wash bag must be there. Besides that, its pure logic...surely someone has picked up my things. It's like I'm drawn to there, to them. Like...you know when you play a video game, important items show up with a glowing outline of blue or orange or green. And even if you don't understand the game, it's instinctive that the glowing items are important. Reach them, and things will change, be better. The blade hidden in my wash bag- god knows how they weren't found- shine like a hundred watt bulb. Luring me as surely as a moth to a flame. Helpless. I ease myself off the bed, succumbing to the inevitable; I tiptoe on socked feet towards the bathroom where my escape lies waiting. The blades unearthed, malevolence glinting off the shiny silver, I grasp one in my now encumbered left hand and send a quick prayer for forgiveness winging it's way to Ally.

That's when I dream in colour

The last conscious thought to drift through my mind before I succumb to the stupor is how it's so easy to let go of myself mentally when I could never- even when she was irrevocably and irrefutably gone- release my grip on Ally.

It seems as if I swim through my subconscious, but perhaps I merely dream. Colours swim, and strange patterns emerge, like the ones I used to imagine existed in my head when I closed my eyes and rubbed the tightly closed lids. Fantastic lights and colours performing a silent show for my benefit. Memories float by me- evident in the glimpse of a face, or a fuzzy scene as if viewed through water. For a brief moment, I wonder if this is what my psyche looks like- but then I condemn it as some madness brought about by all the pain killers smothering my system. Strangely, I feel almost at peace, even as the usually torturous images of Ally flash through my muddled brain. 

I wake scrambling, but immediately freeze when I note my surroundings. Struggling to slow my racing heart while at the same time inhaling as little of the clinical air as humanly possible.


RJxo 
Sorry for the teeny update! I'm highly apologetic, yesterday was a bad day, and today was a busy day. I'll post more soon I promise. xxx

Echo

"I just, I just don't want to pretend okay!?" I have been propelled upright by my words- stronger than I feel- but now I slump back down onto the pillows, as the last of the strength that momentarily flashed through me out of anger drains away.
"Rose...I'm sorry, I truly did not mean to upset you" And for some reason, against my better judgement and potentially influenced by the morphine coursing through my veins, I believe him.
"I'm Dr. Hale...Chris Hale, you were referred to me by the intern who admitted you to the A&E last night."
My breath comes in shallow gasps, fighting to deny the unwavering truth I hear behind his words, this isn't how it's meant to be at all.
"Well? Rose? Is there anything you want to talk about particularly? How are you feeling?"
I hold myself still with the utmost care, breathing lightly and taking up the smallest square of room on the bed, intent on absorbing as little of this hospital as possible.
"I was wondering-"
"I hate this place." I hear myself admit, "when can I leave?" I ask, when all I really want to ask is when can I go home.
"But Rose..." his placating doctor tones roll over me, "you've barely been awake for five minutes".
"Doctor..."
"Hale"
"Yes, Dr. Hale, would it take you longer than five minutes in hell to realise you harboured no desire to be there?" I inject every ounce of scathing I can muster into the sentence, and yet  he chuckles softly in reply. A brief moment of mirth surfacing, he looks as surprised by his amusement as I am irritated. I wasn't aiming to be witty or funny.
"I'm afraid Rose, you have no choice."
You have no choice. Those four inconsequential words are all it takes to send me careering into a memory tailspin. I can almost hear her cracked whisper, see her hand resting lightly next to mine. It's near enough to this day a year ago that I sat in a room almost identical to this one with Ally, there was never any question that I would overcome my fear of hospitals to be with her- but since then my profound loathing for them has only grown. I had of course sat on the opposite side of the low rails on the narrow bed than where I'm curled up now, holding onto her limp and unresponsive hand- light brown against the glaring sanitary white of the hospital sheets. I had been immovable during those visiting hours, precious snatches of time I was allowed to spend with her as I watched her hand lie listlessly in my own I had begun to understand that it was only a matter of time before Ally left me for somewhere she belonged. If only I could release her. I would have stayed forever, but the reminder always came, dropping through the heavy air to rest around me.
"Rose, you have no choice." The psychologist's voice fades out of my awareness, a false echo of what once was.

That Hospital Smell

I struggle to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel as if they’ve been sewn together. Giving up I let them lie closed, what do I really want to see anyway? I try to engage my other senses...aren’t they meant to be heightened when you can’t use one or something... I can’t hear anything except a distant whirring, no idea what that is...some kind of machine, that much is obvious. But in this world that could be anything from a remote control car to a fridge. My sheets feel a little scratchy, that’s weird, my mum’s such a freak for that kind of thing...they’re usually wonderfully soft- not to mention expensive. Oh wait, I’ve missed the obvious...what’s that smell? Oh no. Please no. I wrench my eyes open, uncaring about the pain as the sleep rips my eyelashes out at the roots...glaring white from every direction the sterile landscape greets me. My worst nightmare a doctor in a white coat, almost camouflaged against the stark white, blinking back at me from the end of my bed. The pieces simultaneously click into place, the scratchy linen, too starchy to be the thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets my mother favours. The slight whirring emanating from numerous machines keeping patients suspended in a place between life and death. And of course the cloying, saccharine hint of disinfectant riding the air waves which had alerted me to the predicament I was in. I’m in hospital, my worst nightmare, and just like that everything comes back...I guess it makes sense that the paramedics brought me here, duh, why didn’t I think of that at the time? But of course I know why I didn’t consider this outcome...it’s because I saw this story playing out very differently; I thought my mother would be wearing black already.

"Rose."

I look up, briefly startled, that's right...you're still here. I look closer, all I saw before was the white coat...and it scared me more than just about anything could. Now I register the aging guy in front of me, silver at the temples with dark serious eyes that are searching my face..."So, Rose, do you want to tell me why you're here?" Typical. Psychologist, I should have guessed, he definitely looks the part. "As if you don't know" I mumble, in a way that surely comes across as sullen, but I just want the games to stop. He knows what led to me being here, at least medically anyway, why dance around the truth.

Ally? (SUI Trig)

Eyes darting around the bathroom...nothing in sight. I run water in the sink, clearing all the evidence and removing every trace, more out of habit than because I feel the need to hide, I’m not sure I care enough in this moment. I turn and move along the passage back into my room, pausing only at the window to notice that my mum’s car is gone- and no one else will be home for at least a couple of hours, my brother always has extracurricular stuff. He’s always been so much better than me, and now I’m glad. Reaching my room I close the door behind me and hit the button on my CD player, pumping out the new ministry of sound CD at full volume. I go back to my chest, breath catching in my throat as I see the bare spot where my jar would have been if I’d had the courage for this before, at least I know my mum hates me now. No remorse there. I try to convince myself I’m not trying to commit suicide...I’m just going for my blade same as usual, it was probably time for a new one anyway...who wants’ an infection right, it’s got nothing to do with how sharp it is. Surely the universe will forgive me if I accidentally go too far? Can’t believe I’m trying to rationalise this, but I am.

I locate the blade and climb onto my bed, feeling the beat of the music pulse through my veins as I struggle to keep my hands steady. I won’t have the courage for this more than once; blood has always triggered my urge to stem the flow, to fix whatever’s bleeding. I align the blade, for a second I almost laugh...how many times friends have joked with me “if you’re trying to kill yourself; it’s down the street not across the road”. Raising my hand, I bring the blade down onto exposed wrist, pulsing red. I slump back against the pillows; all I can see is red. Red staining my sheets, red ruining my school uniform, and red leaking onto the floor...but what does it matter? I try to sit up, I’ll have to fix this...the world spins and I fall back, everything fading black at the edges. I drift out of consciousness, my last movement to feebly pull the sheets over the top of me with my good hand...wouldn’t want to disappoint you mum, wouldn’t want James to find me...

“Rose!” the voice is distorted, wavering around me as I try to focus, “Rose, stay with me honey, I’m Alys” Something inside me responds, Alys? She’s important right? Ally! “Rose I’m a paramedic, you’re going to be fine but I need you to look at me ok?” No I groan in a soft voice, I shouldn’t have listened, of course it’s a paramedic... a mere coincidence in names doesn’t change that. What is this; this isn’t how it’s meant to be. Throbbing pain seems to have overtaken my left side and I feel appalling. Heavy head and nauseated...what’s going on? I thought I’d be gone by now. My body is jostled, lifted slightly, but I don’t care...I’m already fading.

Once more...and I'll love you (for now)

My legs start to tremble; I can feel the blood retreating from my extremities, leaving me cold and pale. I slowly tip over, unable to unlock my muscles even to save myself, the floor rushes towards me as I sag down onto it. Tears building behind my eyes, I try to blink the thin film away, will it away. I don’t cry. And yet, I can feel the tears quivering in my eyes, ready to fall, I roll over and wobble unsteadily to my feet...heading for the bathroom. As I step onto the cool white tiles I swing the door shut behind me, sealing myself in this glaringly white chamber, I walk to the sink and grip its edges staring into my reflection in the mirror above. Void eyes, wild and full of moisture, mouth pressed in a thin line, edges wavering with the attempt to force the emotion down. This kind of...uncontrollability isn’t practical.

I raise my hand until it’s almost touching the glass, and then direct it back towards me, all but two fingers pointed down. I bury them towards the back of my throat, feeling the spongy tissue as I force them further to reach the spot at which I hear the click at the back of my throat- and have to pull my fingers out as quickly as possible. Better, I feel more controlled already. Hearing the voices whisper soothingly...nearly enough, that’s nearly enough, I’ll love you if you can do it again. One more and you’ll be worth something.  I retch until the tears come to my eyes...but these aren’t weak tears, shed unwillingly out of frustration and upset at an immovable situation...no, these are practiced tears, tears that were entirely anticipated.

I sink down onto the cool tiles, resting my head against the bath, watching the tears drip down onto the school skirt I’m still wearing though it feels as if I’ve barely been there today.  I can feel myself breaking apart...the shreds of control I've managed to grasp at floating away from me. I stumble back to my feet, unable to sit still, unable to think...I know what I need...but my jar is gone. Mind racing into overdrive, searching for the solution, I begin to pace in an absent minded way.